Born of Coercion
by Black Lighted Clouds
Summary: Sequel to Born of Circumstance. Promises are easily made - not so easily kept; in a world where enemies seem to outnumber allies and deciet is the norm, Wolf and Alex can only hope to survive by trusting each other. But with the odds as bad as this and the constant threat of seperation, they may be forced to sacrifice the one thing they cannot live without: each other.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey everyone, here's the sequel, hope you enjoy :) **

**IMPORTANT: Do not read this fic unless you have read _Scorpia Rising_ or you will be in for massive spoilers!**

_Tears trickled down his cheeks in a silvery torrent, unable and unwilling to be concealed. People were shouting outside the door. He couldn't hear them and he didn't particularly care what they were saying in any case, even as the screaming got closer to his room . . ._

_The door crashed inwards and Alex jumped, turning to face the man standing in the doorway. He felt his load lighten almost instantaneously. Wolf panted slightly, a small flush surfacing in his cheeks, as if he'd sprinted the entire distance between London and this modest countryside manor to be reunited with Alex. He wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case._

_Without a word, the soldier stalked across the room in three brisk strides, threw himself down on the bed and dragged Alex into his arms, the boy's wet face pressed into his shoulder. A shuddering sigh ran through the teenager. He freed his arms just enough to wrap them around Wolf's middle and felt the man tilt his face down so the lower half was nuzzling the disarray of his blonde hair._

_They remained like that, motionless, until Alex ended the silence with a choked, broken whisper, "She's gone."_

_Wolf's arms tightened a fraction and he began to sway slightly, gently rocking Alex back and forth, as if to sooth a frightened child. "I know."_

_Alex sniffed. A tear ran to the end of his nose and fell off, landing on Wolf's shirt and leaving a dark smudge in its wake. A horrible, terrible thought crossed his mind. He couldn't prevent himself from asking it and when he did, his voice was small and fraught, "You won't go too, will you?"_

_"No. Never." His voice was deep and soothing in its warmth, filled with sincerity. But that wasn't right – he did go away. He was taken away, wasn't he?_

_"Alex!" The tone was familiar. There was someone next to him, taking hold of his arm, pulling him away from comfort and love, from Wolf –!_

"Alex!"

The boy jerked in his seat, his head brushing roughly over the car window, furthering his sense of disorientation. Eyes wide, he turned to face Sabina. She was still holding onto his arm, squeezing it in concern, staring him down. "Are you all right?"

Blinking rapidly, Alex cleared his eyes, trying not to yawn. He rubbed his free hand through his hair briefly. Glancing in his reflection, he saw a red mark on his cheek where he'd fallen asleep with it resting in his palm. "Yeah, I'm okay, Sab." He gave into the yawn, scratching half-heartedly at his neck. "How much longer have we got?"

"Just another half hour or so, dear," Liz Pleasure called from the passenger seat. Alex shot her a quick smile before turning to look back out at the scenery.

Night was on its way, the sky outside emitting a mix of sharp orange and watery pink light. Resisting the urge to sleep again and feeling a slight headache coming on from the unexpected nap, Alex leant back into the luxurious texture of the back seat, folding his arms over his chest. Winter was late in coming this year, the early November air only just beginning to cool down, but even so, night was always chilly out here. They'd arrive at the Pleasure's home soon enough and then he could curl up and sleep properly. Perhaps he'd even be able to return to his previous dream.

Why had that particular memory come to him this time? It never had before. If it wasn't a nightmare about Jack's fate, it was happier times, days spent in the kitchen with her or on their many outings together. And with Wolf . . .

Alex tried to clamp down on the thought of his previous guardian with all his mental strength and quickly realized it was an impossible feat. He missed him. It was with no small amount of guilt that he admitted this thought to himself. After all, it had only been just over five months since Jack's death and he was living in her homeland with his new family. He glanced up at the rearview mirror and saw his foster-father's eyes reflected back at him. He loved them all. Edward, with his calm, soothing, fatherly manner, Liz with her cheerful outlook and her ready embraces, Sabina with her inane chatter and sly mischief. They were the family he'd always wanted and he was happy with them. But even so, he longed for Wolf's company. It was nothing tangible, nothing he could explain. There was certainly nothing wrong with the Pleasures, it was just . . . well, Alex loved Wolf in a way he didn't love them and his heart ached at the thought that he was no longer under the same roof as the elder man.

He also couldn't help the suspicion that he'd let Wolf down, disappointed him somehow. Smithers had called and told him the news when Alex returned to the UK and was stored in the safe house. A wry smile tugged at his lips and he remembered the glare Wolf had received courtesy of Crawley when they'd finally left Alex's room hours after the soldier had stormed his way in. It hadn't bothered him in the slightest. He'd even tried to force his face into a smile when they were told that Mrs Jones had arranged for Alex to live in America from now on. As if he thought Alex didn't know how he'd violently contested the decision, stating that he was more than adequate to care for Alex.

His stomach twisted at the notion. If he'd been thinking clearly, if he'd not been so wrapped up in his own grief, if he'd supported Wolf and insisted that he stayed with him in England – would it have worked? Would he even now be sitting on that far too small, squashed up leather coach beside the soldier, laughing over stupid TV or sitting on the floor thrashing him at backgammon?

An image of Wolf's face when Edward had guided Alex through the checking point, crossed a line Wolf could not, flashed in his mind's eye. He'd still had time. Even then, it hadn't been too late. After all, he hadn't sent any of his possessions to America, he was simply taking three suitcases with him. He could've stood up, walked back across the divide . . .

His heart leapt into his throat along with the surge of regret. 'It's too late now, what's done is done. You still talk to him.'

It was true; the pair of them texted and exchanged calls and emails every second day or so, except for when Wolf was on assignment, and he always sent a message warning Alex that he would be unavailable, so Alex knew he hadn't forgotten him. But it wasn't the same.

And, as he tilted his head back so his crown was lolling on the headrest of his seat, he wondered how long it would last before one or both them cracked. And when that happened . . . well, he didn't know what the outcome would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Dedicated to chibidebba99 – you're such a sweetie :)**

The room was cold.

That was the thought that kept running through Wolf's head, as if in a recorded loop, round and round it went. He always forgot to turn the heating on – frequent exposure to terrains he couldn't control had caused him to grow accustomed to any atmosphere pretty quickly, the consequence being that when his own home went into minus degrees, it never occurred to him to do something other than grit his teeth and bare it.

Alex used to remember.

Flexing his fingers slowly, they brushed over the blue duvet lightly, feeling the comfy material caress his hand. One time, after one of his weekend visits, Alex had tried to surreptitiously – or so he termed it –take it back to the Chelsea house, but Wolf said no. He pretended to do it simply for the sake of teasing Alex, but the real reason was so that the boy would still come to see him, even when Jack returned from America and he was no longer the boy's guardian. As silly as the notion of him halting his frequent visits for duvet cover was, he'd still been unable to get the thought out of his head. He wanted to make sure they stayed close.

Wolf snorted, a sound both angry and sad. In that case, he knew he'd failed spectacularly. Not that it was his fault the woman had died, but that he'd been unable to keep Alex with him. He felt if he'd just fought harder, tried to keep a better reign on his temper, perhaps even reasoned with Alex, they'd still be together. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, to force his own concerns on the boy he loved when he was still reeling over his latest, greatest loss.

Wolf sat up, toying with the urge to take one of the thick pillows and crush it to his chest. Over the last few weeks, he'd taken to coming in here, what had previously been Alex's room, and laying on the boy's bed, remembering that period when they had lived together. It occurred to him that it was unlikely to be considered a healthy method of dealing with his turbulent emotions when they got to be too much for him. He couldn't quite bring himself to care.

God, he missed him.

Wolf had tried, many times, to pin down exactly why this was, exactly what had awoken this love within him, emotionally stunted as he was apt to be. It proved to be impossible. Then again, it didn't really matter, did it? He loved him and that was that. A pity it didn't feel that simple. But there was one element to it that _was_ that simple; no matter the cost, they had to be reunited. It was killing him, slowly. He had resolved to let it go, to wait those last three years – nearly two now, Alex's sixteenth was coming up soon, after all. But with each passing day, that certainty, that steadfastness was slipping away. He could not, _would_ not last much longer before he gave in. The only question was, how to go about it? How to cause the least possible pain to Alex? And who to trust?

XXXXX

Deep down, Derek Smithers had to admit, at least to himself, that he wasn't truly surprised. Sighing so quietly the noise would be inaudible to anybody who was not standing right next to him, the specialist replaced the plans he had been checking over into its folder and closed it before turning to face the imposing man standing before him. The soldier met his gaze steadily, muscular arms folded over his chest, chiseled jaw clenched tightly into a harsh line.

They stared at each other for several long, tense moments before the scientist spoke up. "You do realize how serious – not to mention difficult – this will be, right?"

Wolf nodded once, his stormy grey eyes unflinchingly fixated in front of him, locked on his goal.

"What exactly are you going to tell Mrs. Jones? How are you going to make her listen to you?" Smithers forced himself to ask.

Wolf shrugged; a reluctant, sharp, brief movement that did little to hide his growing agitation. "I haven't entirely figured that out yet. I'll find some way to get through to her. Reiterate how much good he did them, how useful he was. Why'd you guys keep going after him, time and time again, if that weren't true? She must want him back."

Smithers considered this for a moment, then shook his head gently, once in either direction, "Not entirely. Mr. Blunt was always very insistent on Alex's skill, but Mrs. Jones did her best to dissuade him wherever she could. She was never really on board with utilizing him," here Smithers fixed Wolf with a suddenly icy stare that would've had a lesser man trembling. "An opinion I share, might I add."

Wolf's face was an emotionless mask. He kept his mouth shut, waiting impatiently for the man to continue with the line of conversation or order him out of his lab. Eventually, Smithers leant back heavily in his seat, his left forefinger and thumb coming up to message the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, suddenly looking exhausted. When he removed his hand, he said, "Why are you doing this, Wolf? You, of all people, should want him as far away from our organization as possible."

"That was what I wanted." The soldier swallowed, trying to crush the abrupt uprising of emotion in his throat. "But . . ."

"But?" Smithers prompted, looking a tad curious despite himself.

"But – I'm worried. I'm _always_ worried about him. It's driving me mad! I never know if he's okay or hurt or upset or whatever. I'm constantly thinking about how he's handling things – _if_ he's handling them, that is." The images of small, precise old cuts littering the skin of Alex's legs, dark red stark against the pale white, came to the forefront of Wolf's mind while he viciously beat them back, repressing a shudder at the memory.

"You two keep in touch, don't you?"

Wolf gave the other man a weary, strained look at that statement. "Oh come on, Mr. Smithers. This is _Alex_ we're talking about here. You know what he's like. He never told anyone when something was bothering him because he didn't want to pressure other people with his problems, especially me – and that's when we lived in the same flat, for God's sake. He's on a whole other continent now! Do you honestly think he's telling me everything? 'Cause I don't."

"Doubtful." Smithers sighed again, looking away from the soldier to stare at a whitewashed wall in thought. ". . . Okay. I get it. You miss him. But do you actually think this is a good idea? Do you really want to pull him away from a family that genuinely cares about him and his happiness, simply because of that? There he has a normal life and a support system if anything does go wrong, here he's got nothing."

"Got _nothing_?" Wolf snarled and, quick as lightning, he was overcome with rage. "He's got _me_, damn it! What do you think I'm battling for here? Why would I go to the trouble of dealing with your lot to get him back in the UK, just to abandon him once he's over the border? I'll look after him! Do you really think _those people_," Smithers couldn't help but raise his eyebrows incredulously at the remarkable amount of disdain Wolf managed to pack into those two words, "can help him like I can? _Know_ him, like I do? Know how he _feels_, like I do? Of course not! How could they? It's all very well to sit there and say "Oh he's got a normal life now, leave him be," but it's too little too late. You think you can just hand him that on a plate and expect him to adjust over night? It's not that simple. Alex's experiences have changed him, they'll always be with him. He needs someone who understands how difficult it is, trying to fit in with civilians after seeing the horrors in the world, someone who realizes that it's not just – just teen angst or whatever the hell you want to call it, that he really does need help sometimes. And more than that, someone who recognizes when to push and when to leave it alone, who respects that he'll need a little space, but loves him enough to ignore it when its necessary. He needs someone who _gets him_."

Wolf was panting by the time he was done. Smtiher's remained silent, staring at him, looking a bit stunned. Wolf surprised himself with the vehemence he'd managed to pack into that speech. Eloquence wasn't something that came naturally to him after all.

"And you believe you're the man for the job?" Smithers voice broke Wolf out of his mini-reverie. "You're better suited to looking after him that the Pleasure's are?"

"Yes." Wolf replied immediately, without a moments hesitation. Perhaps that was what finally won Smithers over.

"All right." He reached out and pulled a hidden wire free from the lamp base; bringing it to his lips, he said, "Did you get all that?"

"Every word."

Wolf spun on his heel as a hidden door slid open, parting seamlessly from the apparently solid brick wall. John Crawly stepped cautiously into the room, his features carefully composed and blank.

"What's he doing here?" the soldier demanded ferociously, not even attempting to hide his anger.

"Wolf. Still making a spectacle of yourself, I see. I suppose at least you attempted to conduct this particular scene in a more private place than last time." Crawley said smoothly, keeping his distance from the irritated man. He did have _some_ sense of self-preservation after all.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Did it make you uncomfortable that I had to comfort Alex after your lot's most recent cock-up?" Wolf asked mockingly.

"Boys." Smithers interrupted as Crawley opened his mouth, an annoyed frown marring his emotionless façade. "Can we get to work, please?"

"Why's _he_ involved?" Wolf demanded, turning on Smithers, his control, already pushed to the boundary by the scientist's earlier comment, getting weaker by the second.

"I contacted him when I received your message. I thought he'd be able to assist us."

Wolf shot a skeptical glance at the agent. "Why would he do that?"

"I will aid you," Crawley began, his voice a condescending drawl perfectly designed to get under Wolf's skin. "Because I disapproved of Alex's relocation to America."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Wolf asked suspiciously.

"I feel that the decision was not made with the best interests of MI6 as the priority. Mrs. Jones felt guilty about the previous year and saw the – accident which befall Miss Starbright, and her own ascension as the Head as her opportunity to make amends. Not a wise decision, in my opinion. The simple truth is we need Alex. He's the best agent we've had in years." Smithers cleared his voice harshly as he glared at Wolf, who quickly shut his mouth against the sarcastic comment that wanted to be voiced. Crawley ignored them. "So if you're willing to assume responsibility for the boy, I'd say the three of us working together is the best chance we've got of getting him back."

Wolf stewed that over, chewing on his tongue, keeping his death glare firmly leveled on the smarmy spy and gratified to see him fidget slightly. "Okay," he said eventually. "So what do we have to do?"

"Well," Smithers said, "I still doubt that Mrs. Jones will approve of this, whatever your reasoning. Crawley was right, she feels bad about her involvement."

"An unhelpful sentiment." Crawley muttered.

Disregarding that, Wolf spoke directly to Smithers. "Is there any way we can go above her? She may be the Head of MI6 but even you guys have to answer to somebody, right?"

Smithers and Crawley shared a quick look. "Earnshaw." The latter said.

Wolf frowned, "What?"

"Henry Earnshaw." Smithers explained. "He's in the Prime Ministers' office. Has been for every single one of them since he entered government, in fact. Likes to be at the centre of things, if you get my meaning."

"You think he'd help us?" Wolf asked dubiously.

"If we can convince him he's got something to gain from it." Crawley said.

Smithers frowned at him, a little reproachfully. "You're selling him a bit too short, there. He may be a borderline-amoral, selfish power-monger, but even without those qualities, he'd probably get Alex back just because he doesn't want the country to lose someone as valuable as Alex."

"He's a patriot?" Wolf questioned curiously.

"Let's just say that knowledge that Alex is gone will probably by enough to make him tear his hair out." Crawley said to the room in general.

"I'll get a message to him," Smithers said. "One of his assistants owes me a favor. I think it'd be best to keep this out of MI6 channels for the time being. The last thing we want is Mrs. Jones finding out before we have a chance to get this underway."

"Right. You've got my number. Let me know if you get him on-board." Wolf stated briskly, striding to the main door. He paused as he reached it, his hand resting on the doorknob, before turning back. "Smithers?" he gave the specialist a small half-smile. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

The room was silent for several long moments after the soldier left.

"Well isn't that interesting." Crawley said in a monotone, his eyes dark.

Smithers shot him a warning look. "Stay out of it, Crawley. I doubt even you could handle them both."

"I'm aware. You needn't worry, Mr. Smithers. I'm simply trying to secure my future here, that's all."

"She's been in charge for less than a year, for God's sake. You're getting ahead of yourself."

"I'm thinking in the long-term, Mr. Smithers. Don't tell me you haven't considered it yourself. And besides, you've seen the autopsy pictures of Sarov's man, Sokolov. You think I want to end up like that?"

"Crawley." Smithers snapped sharply. "For all his faults, Wolf is a good man and he's the best guardian Alex ever had. I won't have you accusing him of something like that."

"All those wounds were sustained from the initial confrontation, then? Funny. You'd have thought K-Unit would've been a bit more thorough in their reports. "Crawley said sarcastically. "I do wonder though . . ."

"What?" Smithers asked in a long-suffering voice.

"Just how far Wolf is willing to go for Alex."

The conversation came to an abrupt end after that statement.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry guys, I have a million excuses, but none of them are adequate, it's just that I've been going through some shit recently . . . I've been having really dark thoughts, have been for a couple years now and when it finally overloaded, well . . . the results weren't pretty. Anyway, gloomy thoughts aside, I've completely changed the plotline of what has now become a trilogy, so sit tight and I hope you enjoy it, though I must warn you, it's not a very pleasant chapter.**

**Dedicated to everyone who reviewed and held onto the hope that I would keep writing.**

Joe Byrne looked up from his desk as the door swung open, frowning until he saw who had entered. "Alex!" he cried, lips widening in a smile before his mind fully registered what he eyes were telling him.

Alex strode into the room, hiding the limp in his left leg impeccably; anyone with less experience than the CIA Director would have been none the wiser. What stood out more obviously were the specks of dried blood the boy had missed when washing his face upon his return to the headquarters. The face in question was pale and set in hard lines, accentuating the adult features Alex had grown into during the past few months, the flickering eyes boring into his superiors without his knowledge. As all ways, Byrne had to swallow down the near-overwhelming feeling of guilt before addressing the youth.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to a debriefing, Alex?" he asked in the surprisingly gentle tone he reserved almost exclusively for the agency's youngest member, "If you like, you can have a few days to recuperate and I'll bring you in at the end of the week?"

"I'd rather deal with it now and get back to school, Mr Byrne." Alex replied in a flat monotone, his eyes darting around the clean, minimalistic room in search of cameras and listening devices. He had spotted three since he had arrived.

Byrne gave him a concerned look but decided not to push the issue, making a mental note to have Shulsky arrange an appointment with the therapist who catered to the upper echelons of the CIA. With any luck, Alex might actually turn up this time.

Clearing his throat, he gestured to the chair in front of his desk while quickly scanning through the numerous files on his desk for Alex's most recent assignment, surreptitiously watching the teenager from out of the corner of his eye as he stiffly placed himself in the offered chair, his arms still and his gaze locked straight ahead.

Locating the file, Byrne pulled it to rest directly in front of it but did not open it, instead folding his hands over the cover and meeting Alex's eyes. "Well, I must say, you've done an excellent job, Alex, as always. Thanks to your efforts, Buchanan is now in a secure cell and Lyne has agreed to co-operate."

"Why would you need his co-operation?" Alex asked, his shrewd eyes narrowing slightly.

"The Navy have some concerns about his activities before he defected."

"You mean they want to know if he has any friends on the inside."

Byrne hesitated. "In a nutshell, yes."

"Friends with sensitive information, perhaps?"

Byrne's eyes narrowed. Alex met his gaze head-on. They sat in silence for several long moments before the elder man spoke up again. "Alex, the government appreciates everything you have done for us and I, personally, have a lot to thank you for. But, if there were any chance that Lyne and his possible friends have gotten into the system, that is for us to deal with, not you."

A frigid smile cut across Alex's face. "In other words, mind your own damn business, yes? Am I still not a member of this agency, in spite of my work?"

Byrne held up his hands in a placating gesture. "That's not it at all. I'm simply saying that your assignment is complete and rather than worrying about the little details, you should take some time to focus on your recuperation."

"Hmm," Alex stared him down for so long Byrne felt his spine tingle as he readied himself for a debate. However, the boy changed tack abruptly. "How is Farrow?"

"He'll be fine. I'm told the hospital insisted on keeping him in for observation for a further twenty-four hours, but after that he's a free man, albeit with bed rest at first."

"Good. That's good." Alex replied quietly.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to see you, if you'd like to – "

"No. Thank you, Mr Byrne. Have the Pleasure's been informed of my arrival?"

Byrne nodded. "I sent Shulsky round a couple of hours ago to get your clothes and let them know."

A small, though sincere, smile flashed across Alex's face, "Is Shulsky in your bad books?"

"Of course he is! Have you _seen_ the scratch he inflicted on the limousine?!" Byrne cried in mock horror, before chuckling at his own antics, gratified when the teenager temporarily joined in.

As the Director went to speak again, there was a knock at the door. Not missing the way Alex's eyes darted round to peer out of his peripheral vision, the elder man called, "Come in!" and the obstruction swung in to admit Ed Shulsky himself.

"Speak of the devil." Alex muttered.

"Sir. Alex." Shulsky gave the boy a small smile and then focused on his boss. "She's been calling again, sir. Says she needs an answer ASAP."

"She would," Byrne muttered irritably, his good mood draining away.

As the man sank into contemplative silence, Alex was left to ponder the loose ends of his mission and his biology assignment, wondering if it was overdue, which it probably was. After sharing a look with the amiable Shulsky, he decided it was time he was on his way, "Was there anything else, Mr Byrne?"

"What?" Byrne looked up, shaken from his reverie. "No, no, that was it. As I've said, well done and do try to get some rest in this time, Alex. I can arrange for some time off school? A week, maybe?"

Alex's eyes went dark. "As much as I appreciate your consideration, Mr Byrne, I've missed enough school already, thank you."

"Well . . . if that's what you want. Miss Knight will be waiting in the foyer to take you home."

Rising from his seat gracefully, despite his injury, Alex nodded to both Byrne and Shulsky, then spun on his heel, marching towards the door.

With his back no turned, Byrne allowed lines of consternation to crease his face and his shoulders felt heavy. "Oh," he added, as a piece of information surfaced in his mind at the last moment. Alex half turned away from the doorway to face him. "Happy – belated – birthday, by the way."

Alex stared at him, expressionless, for a drawn-out moment before moving his lips briefly outwards in an utterly mirthless smile, his already-dark eyes flickering. He exited the room without a word.

Shulsky breathed a sigh of relief, happy that the tension in the room had been dispelled. At least until he looked at the Director, who sat back in his leather office chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his brow creased sternly. "I am quite certain I made myself clear on what should not be said in front of Alex, Ed."

"I know, sir, and I'm sorry but she really is harassing my whole department."

Byrne snorted. "Yeah, Jones is pretty stressed nowadays." The man lost himself in thought for a moment as he considered the difficult, deceptively simple decision that lay before him before he turned, once more, to his subordinate. "Have you anymore news on this Earnshaw character? What is it about him that's got her so riled up?"

"No updates, sir. We've been able to find nothing new, I'm afraid."

Byrne grunted crossly. "Then I'll have to give her an answer blind."

Shulsky waited for several minutes before he felt compelled to prompt the response from his superior. "And what is that answer, sir?"

Another pause.

"Tell her yes."

XXXXX

Acknowledging Tamara Knight's wave with a slight smile, Alex turned to face the two-story urban residence that he been his home for the last seven months and forced himself not to show any outward sign of dread. The possessions he had taken with him had either been confiscated by the CIA or had already been returned by Shulsky, so he had no excuse for dawdling.

The door was unlocked, so there was no need to lock. Closing the door quietly behind him, he strode down the hall silently and stepped into the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a drink and writing a note before going to bed.

"You didn't call out."

Not turning from his goal, he opened the fridge and reached for the orange juice as he replied, "I thought you'd be in bed."

Two sets of footsteps meandered about the kitchen. The slightly uneven gait and minute scraping of the metal on tile told him that Edward had seated himself in a stool at the island while the lighter, brisker shuffle by the sink signalled Liz's choice of area to lean on.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Alex turned to face his guardians, thanking Liz as he took the proffered glass. She nodded but didn't say anything, folding her arms across her chest and looking down at the sparkling floor.

"We always stay up when you come back." Edward continued, attempting to pinion Alex with his sharp eyes, leaning his upper body on the counter, his hands clasped in front of him.

"It's later than usual. Would you like some?" the teenager added, shaking the bottle slightly. He replaced it in the fridge as they declined.

"We need to talk." Edward said, voice low and serious, before Alex could walk away.

'_We always need to talk, according to you two,'_ Alex thought tetchily. Aloud, he simply said, "Yes?"

Edward looked down for a moment, the angle of the lighting creating a sheen across his lenses that obscured his eyes from view. When he looked up again they were hard. "How long do you intend to play this game?"

"Game?" Alex asked, keeping his voice level.

"Don't mess around Alex. We know about what you've been doing."

Alex shrugged his shoulders, leaning back. "Funny, I thought the details were classified."

Liz let loose a strange, shuddering sigh that briefly drew Alex's attention away from her husband, but said nothing, still avoiding his eyes.

"We told you to say no. To them and all the others."

Alex swivelled his eyes around to meet Edward's stern gaze, noting the repressed frustration there dispassionately. "There are times when I cannot say no."

"I am aware that you have history with these people, but you were supposed to put all that behind you." The barely constrained frustration gave way slightly as Edward roughly ran his hands through his hair and set them down again on the marble surface with more force than necessary. "I don't understand Alex. I thought you had changed."

"I have changed."

"_For the better."_ Edward cut himself off there as he voice increased in volume.

Before he could compose himself, Alex started up, feeling inexorably tired all of a sudden. "I was ready to start a new life when I came here. I really was. But the first time, I had no choice, as you well know. It was meant to be my last one. But things happened. Things changed. And now . . . now I have to do it."

"Tell us what it is." Liz suddenly blurted out. On turning to face her, Alex saw that her eyes were red, as if she had recently been crying, large and glistening in her pale, drawn face, her usually immaculate hair a haggard curtain framing her face. "It can't be as bad as all that, honey. Tell us and we'll help you see that."

"I can't." Alex answered flatly, feeling both sad and not at the same time.

"Why?" Edward demanded, refusing to look at his foster son, a quiet anger in his voice. "Because we wouldn't _understand_?"

"Exactly." Alex said, no longer hiding how tired and melancholy he felt. A heavy silence descended on the occupants of the kitchen, weighing them down until the teenager could take it no more. "I think we need to be honest with ourselves here. Maybe . . . maybe you shouldn't have taken me in."

"I'm beginning to wish we hadn't." Edward answered softly.

Alex breathed in and out through his nose several times, then headed for the stairs, plucking his glass of orange juice off the island with one hand. No one said goodnight.

He was almost to the top of the stairs when he heard the creak of a bedroom door closing and had set one foot on the landing when the light under Sabina's room abruptly switched off.

As he prepared for bed, it occurred to Alex, like a flash of light, that he actually missed his old life, moreso than he had previously ben willing to admit to himself. It appeared his situation had done a complete hundred and eighty degree turn. Once upon a time, he was tugged about like a piece of equipment at the leisure of MI6's bosses, but was content to come home to the accepting, familiar Jack and then his comfortable life with Wolf. Now, he was respected professionally and the thought of a whole week post-mission spent with only the Pleasure's had become a repulsive thought. How times changed.

**A/N: Yeah, I know, depressing. Don't worry, it gets better! Sorry about any mistakes and how short it is; I've got about three minutes left of battery life on my laptop and I don't want to risk it, so you're getting this as is, I'm afraid.**


End file.
